


before, after, and the nothingness in between

by tunny



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album), The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Comic)
Genre: Cyborg Character, East Coast Zones, Other, POV Second Person, Temporary Amnesia, like. You are show pony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:47:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23585605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tunny/pseuds/tunny
Summary: You don’t know much. You know you were saved from something. You know that this place isn’t where you grew up. (Did you grow up? Were you ever born? Did you have a life before this?)
Relationships: Party Poison/Show Pony (Danger Days)
Kudos: 7





	before, after, and the nothingness in between

You’re unsure of whether or not you had a life before this. You think you may have, but that’s all it is - thoughts.

You don’t know much. You know you were saved from something. You know that this place isn’t where you grew up. (Did you grow up? Were you ever born? Did you have a life before this?)

You know that the place where the wires cut into your skin hurt, and they aren’t supposed to hurt. You know that parts of you are missing, but you don’t know which parts. You know that you miss the life you think you had, even if you can’t remember it.

You know you have a routine now, working for Energy Inc. You know that every morning at 8 a.m, you wake up, you do your makeup, you pin on your nametag, and you get to work at the diner they set you up at.

They say it’s a trap, and you’re meant to lure people in, but you’ve forgotten how to do that. You’re sure you used to be good at it, before your eyes went blank and your hair became a permanently tangled mess.

You’re also not sure how you would lure people in when they want you to stay inside. They did say the diner was a front, a place for weary travellers to take a moment, sit, and rest. 

It’s 9 a.m, and the moisture is coming. It smothers you, even when you’re inside. The heat, the moisture, and the _pollen._ It invades the dinner, and it surrounds you. And you’re choking, and you’re trapped, and as the pollen fills your lungs it reminds you of dust. Desert dust from long ago. You’re choking, and your mechanical hands are gripping onto the counter hard enough to dent. Your eyes fill with tears, and you’re remembering _dust_ and _sunshine_ and-

It’s 9:15, and everything stops. For a moment, you try to cling to the fragment of a memory, and then, like the pollen, it leaves as quickly as it came.

It’s 10 a.m, and the lights in the diner have gone off. There’s nothing for you to do, and you know you’ll be punished for inactivity, but you’ve done everything. You’re mindlessly wiping one part of the counter over and over, and you think you hear something, and you hope that they’ve finally decided to put you out of your misery.

The door opens at 10:15 a.m, and you quickly plaster on a fake smile as the lights flick on, and you turn to stare at the newcomers.

“A guest!” you say, focusing your eyes on the taller one, with hair so red it almost triggers a memory, “What can I get you to eat today?”

They’re staring at you, and the taller one has a child peeking out behind them.

“Pony?” the child asks meekly, and an image flashes in your head, disappearing before you can make it out. You blink, and your eyes trail over the newcomers, and you can swear they look familiar. You shake your head from side to side- you didn’t have a life before this. 

Your smile widens, and you move to grab two glasses. The Cheerwine is what you’re supposed to give to every newcomer. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.” As you fill the glasses, you pause, and you _know_ you’re supposed to slip the drug into the drinks, but you don’t. “I suggest you try the Cheerwine! The new recipe by Energy Inc is just lovely!”

You step out from behind the counter, and your eyes linger for just a moment on the older one. You want to ask their name, but you know you can’t. You’re not supposed to form any bonds.

You hand one glass to the girl, who eyes it suspiciously, and you offer the other glass to the taller one, who slowly lowers their gun.

“I thought you got ghosted with everyone else when the rest of the bombs dropped,” they say, and your mind short circuits, and for a brief seconds all you can smell is smoke, and all you can see is a bright, blinding orange. And then you laugh, trying to cover up your brief panic.

“I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you repeat, “Energy Inc employs no one from the remains of Better Living Industries.”

They nod suspiciously, and sweep their gaze over the diner. Their eyes find the microphone in the corner, and you shift uncomfortably.

They seem to be contemplating, and you meet eyes with the little girl, and you smile, and it’s a small smile, but it's genuine. She smiles back, and you’re sure you’ve seen that smile before, but you just can’t remember where.

You bring your eyes back to the other one, and they cautiously take the Cheerwine, and take a small sip. “This tastes like it did back at Doctor Death’s, doesn’t it?” they ask.

You know that name. You know that name but you don’t know where, and you remember arms around you, and you remember sitting in someone’s lap, and you remember a voice calling you _sunshine._

You’re unsure why, but there are tears in your eyes, and your shoulders drop. You turn away and wipe your eyes, and walk back to the counter. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.” you say again. You can see them out of the corner of your eye. The little girl sets her empty glass down, and takes a step forward, her eyes scanning the diner like she’s trying to find something.

“Looks like the one at home,” she says, and you can’t control the way your lips move, mouthing the word “home.”

Part of you wants them to leave. You don’t want to risk these people getting hurt, and you don’t know why you care so deeply for them even though you’ve just met them. You think you’ve just met them. The little girl leans more on the redhead, and she looks tired.

You walk behind the cash register, and force it open, the squeaking of the rusty metal assaulting your ears. “That’ll be six carbons, please!” you say, forcing the cheeriness back into your voice.

You know they don’t have any carbons, you can tell by their silence. 

“You could trade for it,” you offer.

They keep the grip on the girl’s hand, and nod. “I have something you’ll be interested in in my car.”

You look up, catching the glance of the taller one, and it’s like their eyes are piercing into your soul, and you remember. You remember arms around you, and you remember red hair, and rock shows, and make up, and you remember laying in bed with them, and you know them, and all you can do is try not to betray yourself with a smile.

“It’s a shirt I found in the desert. Belonged to a friend who looked a lot like you,” they say, and you can see their eyes lighting up with hope. 

“What does it say?” you ask, your voice quieter.

“Noise,” they respond.

You smile again, and it’s real. And you remember. You don’t remember everything, but you remember them. Both of them. You remember teaching the little girl how to paint her nails and teaching her how to skate. You stare at them, and you mouth their name. They nod slowly, and the little girl grips their hand.

“I’ll have to see it. Can I come out with you?” you ask, thin fingers already removing the blank name tag pinned to your shirt. 

They nod again, and gesture out the door. You follow them, and wait for the little girl to buckle her seatbelt in the car before getting in the passenger seat. 

“Poison,” you whisper, and it doesn’t feel real, and it’s almost overwhelming, all of the memories rushing back to you as they lean over and kiss you. You had a life before this. 

The little girl presses a sticker on your mechanical arm, and you smile, lean over, and press the tip of your finger to her nose. She giggles, and your heart soars.

After a while, Poison pulls the car over, and you reach for their hand. They take your hand, and you can feel their warmth. You missed their warmth.

You had a life before this, and you’ll have a life after this.


End file.
